Joker and Harley Take a Vacation
by hyperempathie
Summary: They've been driving south for what feels like centuries. Harley's got her feet kicked up, the passenger's seat thrown back far enough that she can leisurely lean her head back and relax. She's half-awake, somewhat listening to Elvis on the radio and somewhat taking a gander at her lover to her left. (Smut and fluff)


They've been driving south for what feels like centuries. Harley's got her feet kicked up, the passenger's seat thrown back far enough that she can leisurely lean her head back and relax. She's half-awake, somewhat listening to Elvis on the radio and somewhat taking a gander at her lover to her left. Joker's on the driver's side, awake for too long and staring at the same lines and traffic signs, with nothing but concrete for miles ahead. It's noon by now, the sun glares daggers through the glass of the windshield.

"Baby," Harley says, something tired and effortless, "Where are we?"

She waits a minute, making sure no answer is coming before she opens her eyes to look for herself. Shifting around so she's sitting proper, she leans forward and squints her eyes.

Tuna town

"Tuna town? Ha!" she scoffs, leaning back and letting a laugh ring through her, "_Holy mackerel_, baby, I don't think we're anywhere near Jersey!"

He's listening enough to recognize the pun, so he lets a chuckle join her high pitched giggle for a second, something that she doesn't overlook. Her hand touches his bicep playfully, a big grin on the face of a big girl in a tiny town.

"We're stopping here, love," he says, smiling right back at her, "Partially to stay low, partially to meet with a friend," he admits. It's really no use lying to Harley about anything related to work, she'd snoop that lie out faster than he could say it.

"Oh, you picking something up, baby?" she rolls the window down for privacy's sake, as if they aren't on the empty freeway entering a tiny Texas town, "Or is this one of your associates ?"

"A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B."

Harley watches as the car slows to a halt, and she doesn't know enough about the neighborhood to tell if it's a residential area or not. The men standing right where they park, though, give her a good idea that, for them, this area is business. She gives her lover a once over, and the certainty and nonchalance on his face quells any doubts or worries she may have had. There's a lot of concerns rattling around in that brain of hers, plenty of them irrational, but some of them very real, and she appreciates any time she can look over and see her man's stern face as a rock to lean on.

It's a simple deal, not even worth half the worry she gave it, and Harley watches three semi-competent guys struggle to hand Joker two different briefcases. She also watches as he pulls an envelope from the inner right pocket of his jacket and hands it to them, before giving them a wide grin and a wave. Then, ever the gentleman, he guides his Harley right back into the passenger's seat of the Volkswagen beetle they borrowed from her great-aunt. They drive for another minute or two before stopping at a motel, the kind they print on postcards from Pasadena or Vegas, with a great big neon sign on the brightly colored building front.

The woman at reception doesn't seem that eager, Harley finds, for small talk of any kind. In fact, she checks them in faster than she's ever seen a human check someone in at any establishment, head pointed down and eyes wide as saucers. When Harley makes a quip about the place feeling deserted, all she gets is an airy chuckle and Joker's hand tightening on her waist. So she shuts up, watches the lady hand her guy the key and lets herself be guided up the stairs into their room. She's not very used to silence as uncomfortable as that, so she bites her tongue until Joker shuts the door behind them.

"Hey, baby," she says finally, making her way to the big bed in the middle of the room to make herself comfortable, "What're we doing here anyway?"

"Well, Harle," he watches her the way a praying mantis female might observe her mate, she thinks, or maybe the way a husband looks lovingly at his wife. She sits on the bed and he stands in front of her, cupping her cheek with one hand, "Now that that little job is done, I suppose we're due for some rest and relaxation," she notices when he drops his voice, not that same persuasive tone he uses with his 'business associates', but rather something slower and more deliberate, like he's trying to give her something with the words he's saying, "In fact, we don't have any work due until the 18th of the month."

She smiles especially wide at that, leaning her face against his palm, wide blues staring right up at him with the kind of honesty only Harley could muster. It was her perfect getaway fantasy, just her and her love alone in a room with a big wide bed, cable TV and nothing to do but make a mess together. A giddy chuckle escapes her, makes her man run his thumb along her bottom lip as she grins wide at him.

"Well," she begins. He pulls his hand away and sits down on the bed next to her, pulling out an unopened pack of Marlboro lights. Spindly fingers rip the translucent plastic off and he offers the pack in her direction. She smiles at this, grabbing two instead of one and making Joker raise his eyebrows quizzically.

Cheeky as ever, she brings one over to his mouth, and he smiles right back as he allows her to place the cigarette between his teeth. Deliberately not breaking eye contact, he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a metal lighter, lighting his own cigarette and blowing a tuft of smoke at his girl. The tiny cough that erupts from her is quickly replaced by an eager giggle, and she places her own cigarette between her teeth and leans right up to him, pressing the ends of their cigarettes together and taking tiny little puffs.

To her surprise, when she pulls the cigarette away to exhale, her man leans right up into her. It's sudden and leaves her wide eyed, and before she knows it his mouth is on hers, inhaling that smoke right from her lungs like it's the only air he can breathe. Instinctually, she kisses back, clinging her free hand to her bicep as his touches her side, making her feel a bit ticklish. A giggle erupts from her, and he chuckles back and holds her right there, kissing her all the harder for it.

A few minutes of kissing and a cigarette later, and she's on her back on the bed with the Joker looming above her, smiling all the same with one of his hands rubbing her side in comfort. She wraps her legs around his waist, hiking her sundress up in the process so her thighs are exposed, and pulls him forward.

"C'mere, fella."

"Are you sure this is a reputable practice, doctor?" he inquires, stroking her cheek with his other hand as his eyes scan the dingy motel room. She laughs and nods, humming her approval. He tips her head back and kisses her neck, leaving bright red wherever his mouth touches and nipping at the skin lightly. Then, he moves her so she's looking right at him and presses his lips against hers again, kissing her deep and deliberate and stealing the air right from her lungs. She wraps her arms around his neck at this, the Texas heat and her love's touch making her skin break out in tiny beads of sweat.

When they part, he looks down at her, scanning her body until his gaze drops to her inner right thigh and a bright purple circle standing stark against her white skin. He lowers his hand to grip her leg lightly and drag his thumb along the mark, making her breath hitch lightly.

"Aw, poor pookie," he teases, pouting. Still she's all smiles.

"You did that!"

"Hmm, it's looking a bit dull though," and he leans down, though she grabs his hair before he can bite her again.

"It still hurts! Do it someplace else!" she says, playful.

"Oh, alright," he makes a show of sounding annoyed, as if it's any effort at all, as if he wasn't going to kiss every inch of her.

His hands pull her dress further up her stomach, and then he lowers her underwear on one side, making her squirm. It's not shy at all, the way his fingertips explore her skin, he doesn't try at all to hide the intent behind his touch. Soon enough, he's sucking a bright red hickey into her hip, accentuated even more by the pale skin around it. She squeals in delight, playing with his hair as he bites and sucks at her skin, and humming lightly as he soothes any pain he may have caused with gentle kisses. She's left with a pretty red spot marking where he was.

Just as she's getting ready for some more attention, he halts, pushing himself up off of her and leaning over to the bedside table. Harley frowns something exaggerated and lighthearted, no real discontentment behind it, as she watches her guy meddle with the small radio, turning the dial through several channels of static and weather until they're met with the dulcet tones of Dean Martin singing about a love that makes him fall asleep grinning. Harley perks up at this, playing with the hair on the back of Joker's head and pulling him towards herself again.

"Way to set the mood, hon," she says, giving him a tiny peck.

"Oh, I'm just checking to see if there's anything that can drown out the sound of your voice," he jokes. Still, she gasps and pouts at this, earning her another kiss for her troubles. She nips at his lip playfully, biting just hard enough to make him softly hum against her in pleasure.

It doesn't take long, just a couple of minutes of maneuvering around between kisses and caresses, and they're both free of the confines of the clothes they've been travelling in. Harley lets herself have a catlike stretch on the less than comfy mattress which creaks beneath her, and with her legs around Joker's waist she pulls him forward, this time with no pesky fabric between them, just skin and latex. The Joker tosses a condom wrapper carelessly behind them before positioning himself and sinking into her. It feels slow and deliberate, like thunder crashing or the universe forming, and even though it's something she's used to, it feels new every time.

The term lovemaking sounds corny to her, and also inaccurate, because they aren't _making_ anything. Rather, they're enjoying something that's already there for them to take, the proverbial Eve picking the fruit from the tree of knowledge, except this time there is no angel to drive them from Eden. This time, Eden is theirs to roll around in as long as they please.

When it's over, when she reaches that peak, it's waves crashing against stone, the foam that bore Venus. She slams her head back against the sheets, ears ringing as she shuts her eyes as if she'll wake up if she opens them. Somewhere in that vague ether her body floats in, she hears Joker reaching that precipice as well, hears him breathe and moan something erratic and undone. He clings to her like a lifeline, grabs her so she doesn't disappear and buries his face in the crook of her neck as he exhales the last of his energy _right there_.

Everything is silent, her ears ring and her face feels hot, and her man slowly slides out of her, pulls the condom off, ties it off and tosses it wherever. But before she can sink too deep into a sleepy haze, with her eyes half lidded, she watches as his fingers spread her open, slow but feeling so very rough in her sensitized state. It makes her squirm, that precipice between consciousness, and she starts to feel hot all over again. Those fingers almost make her sore, but she bares down on them, shutting her eyes as his thumb rubs right above her clit in that way she likes. It's slow for a few minutes, languid, nothing there for her to chase, only to enjoy. Still, she starts to shiver when he hooks his fingers upwards just so, speeds his pace up ever so slightly, and it's almost like some spark communicated between the two of them that makes him start to really _fuck_ into her, deeper and harder until her soft sighs become gasps, high pitched and needy. Looking down at them, though, is what sends her over the edge: the obscene wet sound of herself and the sight of his fingers hammering into her, almost like watching a porn of herself, so dirty and delightful.

When she cums the second time, she tips her head back again, quiet this time, shaky as her hips cant upwards once, twice, three times, until that deep knot within her unfurls and she feels sated. Unable to think of anything, she stares at the ceiling.

It's instinctual and hardly conscious the way they move around so she's snug with her head on his chest and his arm around her. They're both sweaty, she notes, and she holds her hand right above his heart to feel the cacophony inside his chest slow down to a consistent beat.

They lie like that for a while, not moving or saying anything, tension leaving their bodies. On the radio, a Roy Brown song she doesn't know begins to play, and Harley sighs. They really did need a vacation, she notes, especially her Joker who, poor thing, was gripping that steering wheel so hard on the way that it seemed like he'd rip it right off. Now, though, he appears content as ever, calm and breathing slow and deep. She traces little heart shapes on his chest with her fingertip, watching the rise and fall with every steady breath he takes.

A few minutes and love songs later, her daze is broken by a gentle snore. She raises her eyebrows and gives her man a look, watching as he takes a particularly deep inhale and makes that same sound. A tiny chuckle escapes her, but she stops herself from getting too loud, not wanting to wake him up. Instead, she sighs happily and wraps an arm around his middle, nuzzling against his chest.


End file.
